


Eyes Wide Open

by justtakeachanceanddance



Category: Glee
Genre: Drabble Collection, Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge 2013, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 10:39:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 9,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justtakeachanceanddance/pseuds/justtakeachanceanddance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine isn’t a fool. He knows he needs to go into life — his chosen career in the arts, his relationship with his true love Kurt, and his new home in New York City — with his eyes wide open.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Artist

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2013 [Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge](http://klaineadvent.tumblr.com). See website for prompts, roundups, and drabbles by other authors.

Blaine’s footsteps echo, hollow, as he walks across the silent stage. The lights are harsh and blinding on his face. His pulse pounds in his chest, his throat, his ears.

He’s terrified.

He smiles weakly and inhales a shaky, shallow breath, barely enough air to support the song he’s about to sing.

“Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Anderson,” Carmen Tibideaux says. He can’t see her, though — can’t see anything but dust dancing in the glare of the spotlight.

Inside of him, his fear suddenly swirls and morphs into something else. It courses through his veins, quick and hot as lightning. Adrenaline.

He knows a career in the arts is impractical — even Mr. Schue told them so. But here, on the hallowed ground of center stage, with sweat beading over his brow, he’s no longer afraid to hear the word no.

He’ll play piano in seedy bars to pay their rent. When he fails, he’ll come home to Kurt, who’ll give him a kiss and a kick in the pants to get up and try again. He’ll fight the impossible odds until he gets the big break he’s sure is out there, waiting for him.

Because he’s a performer, an artist. This is his life. And today, right now, all of his dreams are going to come true.

He’s ready — so ready, he feels like like his spirit could launch out of him, whole and sparkling.

He breathes again; this time, his lungs fill and his smile comes big and easy. From the piano in the corner, the first notes of his music begin to play. And he sings.


	2. Belong

He knows it as he tears open the envelope addressed to _Blaine D. Anderson_ at his kitchen counter. His hands shake, and butterflies flit wildly in his stomach. He gives himself a paper cut, but he doesn’t notice until hours later.

He hears it in Kurt’s voice when he answers his phone, mere moments after he texts a blurry picture of his acceptance letter. He’ll carry the memory of that conversation — their shared laughter and tears and whispers and squeals of joy — for years to come.

He yells it to the choir room when he walks into glee rehearsal the next afternoon. “ _I got into NYADA!_ ” Sam attacks him with a bear hug, and then Tina, and then Unique, and then Marley, until they all threaten to topple over like giddy, teenage dominoes.

He feels it when he picks Kurt up from the airport the day before his graduation. When Kurt takes his hand, the warm, smooth, strong metal of the engagement band he gave slides against his skin. He’ll never, ever tire of the way that feels.

He tastes it in Kurt’s kiss, fifteen minutes later, ensconced in the quiet and privacy of his car. Their lips glide together, hot and wet and slow. He savors it, chases the flavor, and finds it again and again.

He tells it to the audience of hundreds gathered for his graduation ceremony the following evening. When the senior class president is announced, he strides up to the podium, confident, and says to his fellow classmates: “Each one of us belongs somewhere. You’ll always have a home here at McKinley, but now it’s time to seek out your place in the world.” He speaks from the heart, because he knows he’s found where he fits.


	3. Consume

Blaine rolls over in bed with a frustrated sigh. His room is too hot, even with the air conditioning on. He throws off his covers, kicking them down to his feet, and stares through the dark at his ceiling. 

It’s been three nights since graduation. Three nights he’s been unable to sleep, consumed with thoughts of _Kurt_ and _college_ and _New York_ that constantly, restlessly drive through his mind. 

He reaches for his phone on his nightstand and unlocks the screen. The sudden, blinding brightness certainly won’t cure his insomnia, but maybe texting Kurt the words he can’t stop thinking will. 

_One month from today_   
_I’ll be there, sleeping with you again_   
_Forever_   
_It can’t come fast enough_

Blaine locks the screen again and holds his phone tight to his chest. It’s not soft or warm or comforting, but for the next month it’s all he has. 

*** 

“Are you packing for New York _already_?” 

His mother has stopped in his doorway, a basket of clean laundry in her arms. There’s a quizzical look on her face as she stares down at Blaine, sitting on his sun-splashed bedroom floor, surrounded by cardboard boxes. Each box is labeled with a single word: _BOOKS_ , _SHOES_ , _TROPHIES_. 

Blaine shrugs. “Don’t want to leave it till the last minute!” he says brightly, trying to ease the tension that’s been hanging in the air ever since the day he proposed to Kurt at Dalton. 

His parents think it’s just a phase, an infatuation -- his engagement to Kurt. It’s not. He tells them so. They look at each other with knowing smiles; he even caught his mother rolling her eyes once. _“You can always come back home, honey,”_ they tell him. _“We’ll be here for you.”_ Blaine is too absorbed by his excitement to bother pointing out the irony in their words. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she says now from halfway through the door frame, keeping enough distance between them to let the friction live and thrive and spark and burn. “You still have a month left!” She quirks an eyebrow at him before continuing down the hall. 

Blaine stares after her for a moment. In the empty space where she’d just stood, the image of New York roars into his vision -- a dusty stage, a piano and a half-empty tip jar, a crowded loft apartment on a rough Brooklyn street, and a man wearing his engagement band who’ll be helping him unpack these boxes in only a month’s time. 

Smiling, he neatly folds another shirt into the box labeled _POLOS_ by his side. 


	4. Dirt

Blaine’s shoes crunch down his gravel driveway as he walks to Sam’s car one last time. He can’t see anything out the back window through all their boxes, but they’ll manage the drive. 

The wind blows hot and arid, crying out for a rainstorm to soak the earth. His skin crawls with a dry itch and the burning thrill of anticipation. 

The moment Blaine settles into the passenger seat, Sam peels out of the driveway, kicking up stones. 

T-minus ten hours till Brooklyn. 

Blaine grins as he reaches down to wipe gray gravel dust off the soles of his Sperrys. 

*** 

Everything is dirty in New York. It reminds Blaine that millions of people live here, but not all of them survive. 

41 Meadow Street -- it’s an egregious misnomer. There aren’t any dewy flowers here; the only vibrancy lies within the old factory walls, where Kurt, Rachel, Santana, and now Blaine and Sam, call home. 

Blaine steps out of the car, letting the weak, dusty sand he carries from Lima mingle with the city grime. Past, present, and future collide with each _roll, clip, roll_ of his suitcase across the sidewalk, in tempo with the anxious beat of his heart. 


	5. Echo

The train screeches to a stop in the station. Blaine squeezes Kurt’s hand tighter as the jarring noise bounces off the walls and bolts through his body like lightning. 

Kurt throws him a quick, supportive smile. “You’ll get used to it,” he says. 

*** 

The man on the street below their darkened window spits angry, screaming curses. A bottle shatters. Blaine shudders, burrowing his face deeper into the crook of Kurt’s neck. 

“You’ll get used to it,” Kurt murmurs, half-asleep. 

*** 

When Blaine enters the diner Thursday afternoon, Kurt rushes up to him, abandoning his table mid-order. “How’d it go?” 

“Excellent.” Blaine can feel his grin grow, wide and easy. “I’m all registered. I got Cassandra July for dance one.” 

“Oh, _no_ ,” Kurt groans. “I was hoping you’d avoid her. She’s a _monster_. You’re going to dance your cute little tush off.” 

Blaine pauses, and then smiles at him. “I’ll get used to it.” 


	6. Falter

Cassandra July is a _monster_.

It's only been two weeks since the semester started. Two grueling, bruising weeks of being beat up and torn down by his dance instructor. And Blaine is finally starting to feel the pain, deep in his bones and his soul.

She’s renamed Blaine “Alfalfa,” because he’d made the mistake of wearing his bow tie t-shirt and, okay, a _little_ too much gel to her first class. "What inbred little hick town did you ride in from?" she'd asked him as the rest of his classmates watched on, in their sleek black dance gear and effortlessly styled hair.

On Friday of that second week of class, Blaine hobbles out of the dance studio and slumps onto a nearby bench in the hallway. He’s completely out of breath, and he can feel sweat still shimmering on his brow. He wipes it away with his fingertips, and then looks down at his hand. And blinks in surprise at what he sees staining his skin.

"Kick butt in dance class today?" Kurt's timing is impeccable. He plops down next to Blaine on the bench and gives him an encouraging smile.

“Did you put bronzer in my moisturizer again?” It comes out accusatory, a shot fired right at Kurt’s heart. Blaine holds up his hand, the one he'd just used to wipe his brow, and waggles his orange fingertips in front of Kurt's face.

"Well, I just... ah..." Kurt stammers, caught off guard. "I thought a little color would give you a bit of a... a boost."

"Kurt!" Blaine shoots off the bench and whirls around to face him. "Cassandra stopped the entire class to berate me today because of it. She said between my fake bake and my Midwestern pudge, all I needed to do was bleach my eyebrows and I ‘d be perfect for the part of Oompa Loompa Number Four in a regional production of _The Wizard of Oz!_ ”

Kurt just stares at him, blue eyes wide with shock. "I-I'm sorry, Blaine."

Blaine swallows hard against the feeling of something punching deeply in his gut. He knew it would be hard, trying to make a career in the arts. But he’d never anticipated that people would make him feel so…

“Horrible.” He says it out loud; hearing the word only makes it sink in deeper. “I feel _horrible_ , and I just…” _Want to feel safe. Want someone to tell me I can do it. Want to know I’m making the right choice. Want people to like me for who I am._

“Blaine.” Kurt stands and takes Blaine’s hands, firmly cupping them both in his own. He stares into his eyes and says, “I’m _sorry_. I was just trying to have a little fun. I never thought she’d be so mean about it. But then again, I should have known better. She’s awful to the best ones.”

Blaine barks out a laugh that edges on bitter. “I’m not the best one. Far from it. I’m clumsy, and I--”

Kurt doesn’t let him finish. “You know how I know you’re one of the best? Other than the fact that I’ve been performing with you for three years and I know you’re incredible? It’s because Cassie July only picks on the people she feels threatened by. Ask Rachel -- she’ll tell you the same thing. Cassie _tortured_ her because she saw something in her. She only wants you to succeed, Blaine. Just like me.”

“You really think so?” Blaine’s voice sounds small, but hopeful, to his own ears.

“Absolutely.”

Blaine doesn’t totally buy it -- not yet. But he feels a little bit of hope seep back into his body. “Thanks.” He gives Kurt a brilliant, joyful smile, and he can’t help but say, “I love you, Kurt.”

“I love you, too. Now, come on!” Kurt quirks his head back toward the dance studio’s open door. “Let’s go back inside. I want you to show me your _moves_ , Mister Anderson!” When he says the word _moves_ , he does an adorable little shimmy that makes Blaine’s heart feel light and utterly happy again.

“On one condition.” Blaine clutches Kurt’s hands tighter, trapping him in place.

“Yes?”

_“No more bronzer!”_


	7. Gift

The sun’s dying rays streak pink and gold across the milky sky. The light burns low, setting fire to a lazy line of clouds that glow like a halo above the city skyline. Blaine peers through the train’s scarred, hazy window as the first lights of evening begin to pop alight in the buildings’ shadows, dotting the dark, choppy surface of the East River with tiny glimmers of bright yellow.

Kurt is sitting beside him on the hard blue bench, staring out at the world beyond the speeding train. He’s been silent the whole ride, but now he tilts his head and rests it on Blaine’s shoulder. His hair is soft and smells of sweat, the way it tends to at the end of a busy day.

“I’m so tired,” Kurt murmurs, barely loud enough to hear as the train clips along its track.

“Me too.” Blaine’s fingers, wrapped in the comfort of Kurt’s hold, are cramped from hours practicing keystrokes in piano lab. His head rings with the scattered memory of notes and chords that no longer form a song in his weary, overworked brain. His legs -- well, his legs are in a permanent state of deterioration due to dance class. He’s not even confident he’ll be able to stand up when the train screeches to a stop at their station.

But in spite of his pain, Blaine couldn’t be happier. Because tonight, on their evening commute home from school, they’ve happened to catch the perfect peak of sunset as they speed across the bridge to Brooklyn.

With his cheek pressed against Kurt’s hair, Blaine catches one final glimpse of the glorious sunset before the train disappears into the black of the underground.


	8. Human

Kurt’s skin is hot and velvet-smooth under Blaine’s hands. He glides his fingertips down either side of Kurt’s torso, feeling the hard edge of his ribcage and the soft curve of his waist.

Kurt squirms under his touch. “Tickles,” he says with a giggle. It’s the only sound in their darkened, silent apartment.

They tend to take advantage of the rare moments they’re home alone by quickly, feverishly coming in each other’s fists. But tonight, Blaine lingers. He stares. He savors. His thoughts wander, and he loses himself in quiet contemplation.

He knows how people are created, formed, born. But how do flesh and bones encapsulate a soul, one so vibrant, one he loves so deeply? How can he be so bound together with another human that his simple presence beside Blaine makes him feel whole?

“What are you thinking about?” Kurt asks. When Blaine looks up at Kurt’s face, he finds Kurt watching him curiously.

He can’t find a way to put into words what he’s thinking, about life and chance and devotion. So he says, simply, “Just that I love you,” through his scratchy throat.


	9. Ice

Winter comes early to New York that fall, and without any warning.

The weather forecasters completely miss the ice storm that rains down on the city one Thursday in mid-November, hidden deep in the night. When Blaine and Kurt awake just after dawn, they find the world embalmed in a thick coat of ice.

But it’s New York. No storm will slow down the chaos, the grind. Blaine has to be in the dance studio by 9:45, and Kurt in the little theatre by the same time. They pile on layers -- cable-knit sweaters and scarves, boots and beanies over their loose athletic wear -- and head out into the frosty morning.

The city is beautiful on ice. Even the dirtiest, most dangerous street corners glitter like precious gems in the cold, weak morning sunlight. Kurt and Blaine walk like penguins, arm in arm, sliding and waddling along the slippery sidewalk. They laugh as they cling to each other, each of them nearly wiping out at least twice apiece.

Normally they skip the bus during daylight hours, pocketing the two-fifty in exchange for hoofing it to the subway. But today they barely make it to the street corner before caving to convenience.

The bus is packed -- they weren’t the only ones to give up on their walk -- so they stand in the aisle, Blaine holding on to a bar and Kurt holding on to him. It’s awkward and stifling hot, but Blaine revels in the overwhelming comfort of Kurt’s embrace.

“I want to kiss you so bad right now,” he murmurs into Kurt’s ear, covered by the thick green knit of his hat. He knows Kurt hears him, because he sees his mouth curve into a smile.

Kurt turns his gaze from the window and fixes it on Blaine’s. “Save it,” he whispers, or mouths -- Blaine isn’t sure because he can’t hear him past the noise and his own layers. But he reads it on Kurt’s lips, and sees it in his eyes. The same hunger thrumming through his own veins, coupled with a flirty wink that tells him he has something to look forward to later.

Blaine purses his lips, hiding a grin that threatens to shatter the bus’s stony, expressionless atmosphere. He tucks his desire into the warmth of his heart and takes Kurt’s mittened hand as they hop off the bus back into the icy cold.


	10. Jigsaw

Blaine’s heard too many times that life is like a box of chocolates. He’s always thought of life as more like a jigsaw puzzle: hundreds of scattered pieces that, when put together in the perfect place, form a beautiful picture.

Blaine used to think he was a border piece. Because border pieces are essential to the structure of the puzzle. They’re the first ones people work to fit into place; they’re the pieces from which everything else flows.

These days, he feels more like a middle piece -- maybe a piece of blue sky, or a piece of angry ocean, or a piece of a road that leads off into the distance and makes you dream about what lies beyond the picture. Middle pieces are a dime a dozen, barely distinguishable from the others. You struggle to find their place, trying again and again, sometimes putting the piece aside for a while and working another section of the puzzle instead.

Blaine tries, every day, to fit himself into the big picture of life. In dance class, and piano lab, and the new job he’s picked up at the diner with Kurt and Rachel and Santana, and on the damn subway when he can’t find his way through the confusing maze of underground tubes. Sometimes he stumbles, sometimes he succeeds.

It’s harder to find where a middle piece fits. But nothing feels better than when you finally find its perfect spot and lock it into place with a triumphant _aha_! Middle pieces make the picture. Middle pieces are surrounded by company, not left to the fringe.

Someone else can give his world a neat, tiny border; Blaine isn’t interested in that anymore. He’d rather live in the place where he’s found he fits, and with the other pieces that fit into him: NYADA, music, Kurt, their friends.

The picture isn’t perfect, not yet, but putting it together is the best part.


	11. Key

Blaine has never been tired of playing piano before this moment.

He’s sitting at the upright he bought for the loft, plunking out notes on its ivory keys. Piano One is an elective -- an easy class he’d breezed through during most of his first semester. But now finals are here, and suddenly it’s like he’s never touched a piano before in his life. He keeps screwing up the notes, his fingers twisting and tripping over one another with fatigue.

“Damn it!” he curses to himself when he accidentally plays the piece out of sequence -- again. He squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off the headache that’s threatening to pound at his forehead.

Then he feels a soft, warm pair of hands smooth over his shoulders. “Tired, babe?” Kurt murmurs, gently kneading the sore muscles at the base of his neck.

Blaine’s hands drop to the keys, sending up a loud, discordant mishmash of notes. “ _Yeeeaaah_ …” he says, halfway between a moan and a sigh.

“You’re so _tense_.” Kurt’s voice is like a cat’s purr: light and airy, with just enough of a rasp for Blaine to know that he’s trying to be seductive. “Why don’t you take a break for a few minutes?”

He really shouldn’t; his final is tomorrow, and the only thing that will help him ace the exam is more practice and a full night’s sleep. But whatever Kurt is doing -- rubbing and caressing his achy, anxiety-riddled body -- feels _so good_.

Kurt must take his silence as a cue to continue, because he swings one leg over the back of the piano bench, and then the other. He seats himself behind Blaine so that Blaine is sandwiched between his thighs. Blaine can feel the hard heat of Kurt’s cock pressed tightly against his ass -- just where he likes it. He fights the urge to wriggle his butt even closer; instead, he tips his head back, arching deeper into the massage.

He lets his eyelids slip shut, so he’s taken by surprise when he feels a hot, wet stripe down the edge of his ear. Kurt’s tongue. Blaine groans and mutters something unintelligible, even to his own ears.

Kurt chuckles in his ear; the sensual sound reverberates all the way through Blaine’s body. “Just relax…” Kurt tells him before closing his lips over the flesh of Blaine’s earlobe.

Nothing can stop him from squirming now. With another moan, Blaine grinds his ass into Kurt’s cock, his worn fingers digging into the fabric of Kurt’s pants. Kurt responds with a low noise of his own; his hands splay across Blaine’s chest, holding him in place and pressing them closer to one another.

Neither one of them can jump away quickly enough when they hear the heavy loft door slide open a moment later.

“Christ!” Santana screeches. When Blaine snaps his eyes open, he sees her standing halfway in the hallway, with one hand thrown over her eyes. “Is that what you pervs do with the piano when nobody’s around?”

“Santana!” Blaine can feel his face flush with heat. “We were just, ah--”

Santana cuts him off as she charges into the living room. “You should really lock the door if you’re gonna make out in the living room, you know.” She plops herself down on the couch and sets her purse down beside her.

“I’d lock it if you ever remembered your keys!” Kurt retorts, still glued to his seat behind Blaine. Blaine has a pretty good idea as to why he hasn’t yet gotten up, and that good idea is huge, rock-hard tease against his jeans. “We’ll just go in our room, then.”

“Oh, _great_. Now you’re going to go have quiet, creepy sex behind that curtain while I sit here in your foreplay room.”

“Are you saying you want us to invite you to the party, Santana?” Kurt waggles his eyebrows suggestively at her, and Blaine can’t help but crack up at how comfortable with sex his fiancé has become.

“ _Ugh_.” Santana stands and grabs her purse. “You know, on second thought, I think I’ll head over to Dani’s a little early. You boys have fun on that piano bench!”

In a flash she’s gone, slipping through the sliding door and closing it tight behind her. For a moment, Blaine thinks about getting up to bolt the door so no one else can come through.

But then he feels Kurt’s hand snake down the front of his chest toward the fly of his jeans. “I think she just gave us permission to do it on this piano bench,” he murmurs into Blaine’s ear.

“I think I like that idea,” Blaine manages to choke out as Kurt reaches for his zipper.


	12. Loft

The loft is chaotic. When all five of them are piled in there -- Blaine, Kurt, Rachel, Sam, and Santana -- the huge space shrinks. They battle for bathroom time and space on the DVR. Blaine is sure Santana has been stealing his chocolate brownie protein bars.

The loft leaves little room for privacy. They’ve hung curtains, they try to keep quiet. But when Blaine comes out of his and Kurt’s bedroom some mornings, he can tell by the way his loftmates snicker and avert their eyes that they’ve heard too much. He gets used to it, eventually.

The loft is wild, the loft is peaceful. They get drunk on wine and holler at Sam, who grinds to raucous music and makes Rachel blush. They sip tea and study lines with the Beatles playing softly in the background.

The loft is home.


	13. Message

A gentle touch presses against his forehead. Lips, soft and warm. Kurt.

“Bye,” Blaine mumbles, barely conscious. It’s light, but too dim. There’s movement, but not enough. He slides back into sleep.

***

Blaine’s alarm sings a joyous, jolting morning song, rousing his mind and body awake. He fumbles blindly for his phone, silencing the music.

There’s a mug on the nightstand, with tendrils of steam curling into the air. Beside it sits a piece of paper, folded in half and tented. Through one sleepy, cracked-open eye, Blaine reaches for the note and reads it.

_Thought you could use the extra sleep and some caffeine before your dance final._

_Good luck! Text me when you’re done!_

_Kurt <3_


	14. Neon

On New Year’s Eve, Kurt and Blaine forego parties to sneak up to the roof. In the wild sea of New York, they’re a quiet, blissful island, shivering and giggling under a blanket.

They count down to midnight with the faraway cries of strangers. _Four… three… two… one!_ Their kiss stretches long and languid until the inky sky over Manhattan begins to glitter with fireworks.

Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine in a tight, cozy embrace. Blaine can’t move, and he doesn’t want to.

“What’s your new year’s resolution?” Kurt asks, resting his chin against Blaine’s wool-covered shoulder.

Blaine watches the dim reflection of fireworks explode like neon lights in Kurt’s blue eyes, and feels his heart tumble into the warm promise of forever.

“To marry you,” he says.


	15. Overture

Kurt has been acting strange all day.

First it was this morning, when Blaine had walked into their bedroom after his shower to find Kurt hunched over the nightstand with his back to Blaine. When Blaine had asked what he was doing, Kurt practically jumped out of his skin, yelping and then hastily shoving something into his shoulder bag.

Then, on the train to work, Blaine had tried to get a cough drop out of Kurt’s bag -- he knew Kurt always carried them, and he needed something to soothe his winter sore throat. But when he began to unclasp the fastener, Kurt had slapped his hand away. 

Now Kurt is standing at the bar with Rachel, his face leaned in close to hers. They’re whispering conspiratorially about something, their hands gesturing wildly. Every few moments, one of them glances in Blaine’s direction; he smiles when he catches their eyes, but they just look away. So he tries his best to ignore them, even though he feels a pang in his chest that something might be wrong.

It’s easy to let himself get caught up in the rhythm of performing, and so he does, plunking out familiar songs on the piano at the front of the diner. He’s supposed to stick with Broadway songs and big hits, the type of music that will make people feel _New York City_ in every fiber of their being.

He’s nearing the end of “December 1963,” trying to decide how to segue into “Can You Feel the Love Tonight,” when Rachel skips up to the stage. She’s holding a booklet of sheet music and wearing a coy smile that makes Blaine narrow his eyes at her.

“I have a special request for you,” she says. She opens the booklet and props it up on the music holder, patting the pages down twice for good measure.

Blaine scans the notes printed on the page, and then the title of the song: _I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do_

Before he can process what’s happening, Blaine sees Rachel turn to face the dozens of patrons in the diner. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, please enjoy a special performance by Mister Kurt Hummel!” She holds a hand out in Kurt’s direction, where he’s still standing by the bar. Before she hops off the stage, she throws Blaine a faux-innocent glance over her shoulder.

Blaine quickly glances over the sheet music one more time before beginning to play. The melody is fun and bright, and almost immediately, the audience begins to clap along to the beat.

Then Blaine hears Kurt’s voice, ringing sweet and clear as a bell from the back of the diner.

_I can't conceal it_   
_Don't you see?_   
_Can't you feel it?_

The other waiters and waitresses begin to dance and spin around the tables, singing the chorus with huge smiles on their faces.

_Say I do_   
_I do, I do, I do, I do, I do_

Blaine grins, and then laughs, ducking his face as his cheeks flush with heat. He tries to keep playing the melody, but he’s completely distracted by Kurt, who is singing directly to Blaine as he walks up to the stage.

_Blaine, let's show it_   
_I love you, and you know it_   
_Say I do?_

When Kurt drops to one knee and holds out a shiny, silver ring, Blaine gives up on the song rather gracelessly. His hands smash down to the keyboard, but he barely hears the jarring mismash of notes. His vision tunnels around the ring, glinting in a thin beam of sunlight stretching from the front window.

Blaine’s voice is shaky, barely reaching beyond the first row of tables as he sings his answer: _“I do, I do, I do, I do, I do.”_  

In a second they’re in each other’s arms, showered with applause from the diners. Their passionate kiss leaves little room for breath, and when Blaine finally pulls away, he’s panting for air.

“I thought grand romantic gestures were my thing?” he says between breaths.

“Did you think I would let you outdo me?” Kurt answers wryly. He reaches for Blaine’s hand and slides the ring on his fourth finger. It fits like a glove, and perfectly matches the band Kurt wears on his own left hand.

As they kiss again, Blaine thinks about that day at Dalton, when his heart had felt like it could burst from his chest with love for Kurt and excitement for their future. It’s like he’s reliving it, renewing the hope he held and the joy of a dream coming true, over and over again.

Around them, the voices of the wait staff continue to ring through the diner, without any accompaniment but the steady rhythm of clapping.

_Oh, I've been dreaming through my lonely past_   
_Now I've just made it_   
_I found you at last_   
_So come on_   
_Now let's try it_   
_I love you_   
_Can't deny it_   
_'Cause it's true_   
_I do, I do, I do, I do, I do_


	16. Pulse

Blaine never imagined living with Kurt would be so hard, and so very good.

The life they begin to build during those first six months in New York together has its own pulse, pounding and pattering with each new day.

Some days it rages, a roller coaster roaring down its track. Speeding, screaming, then silence. Others, it’s a hot, heady rhythm -- a crackling fire burning so fiercely they both nearly suffocate, euphoric.

It’s a dance for which they can’t take lessons; a debate with no winners. It breathes, wants, dreams, cries, loves. It’s everything and anything, and its theirs.


	17. Quick

It’s already January, and the wedding is coming up quick.

They’ve found a venue -- a modern Brooklyn hotel with a rooftop terrace that will glow under the warm city lights -- and sent their save the dates to sixty-five guests. Tonight they’re looking at invitations online, scrolling through design after design in a seemingly endless stream.

Kurt stops on one he likes -- a stark, minimalist design that makes Blaine silently crinkle his nose -- and starts to type in the text that would make it theirs.

_Kurt Hummel_

_Blaine Anderson_

_Brooklyn, New York_

_May 10, 2014_

“It’s coming up quick,” Blaine says out loud as the thought runs through his mind for the half-dozenth time.

Kurt turns sharply, abandoning his typing. The cursor keeps blinking by the date, black on white, and Blaine glances at it again, distracted. _May 10, 2014._

“Blaine Anderson,” Kurt says, bringing Blaine’s attention back to his face. His mouth is curved upward in a crooked smile, and his eyes sparkle with amusement. “You’re not… _nervous_ , are you?”

“I…” It’s not that he’s nervous. Not at all -- he wants to marry Kurt with every fiber of his being. “ _No_. I’m not nervous,” he says, clear and strong. There’s a different feeling niggling at him -- something bigger, more incredulous.

“Then… what?” Kurt takes Blaine’s hand -- his left one, the one on which he wears his shiny new ring -- and clasps it between both of his own. It’s warm and soft and loving, and the same emotion Blaine felt when he stared at _May 10, 2014_ washes over him all over again.

He takes a deep breath, pausing with his mouth open, silent, for a moment before starting to speak. “It wasn’t that long ago that I thought I’d lost you forever. And now here we are, planning to be _together_ forever.”

Kurt chuckles and shakes his head, his lips forming a small smile. “I know. I can’t believe it sometimes, either.”

“It felt like an eternity when we broke up, but when I look at it now… really, it’s all happened so quickly.” A year ago, Blaine had simply been happy that Kurt was willing to be his friend again; only in his wildest dreams did Blaine think they’d be planning their wedding now.

“It has.” Kurt stares down at his hands, covering Blaine’s, and then looks up. His eyes, so big and blue, seem as if he’s lost in thought, even though they’re entirely focused on Blaine. “I told you what my dad said right before you proposed to me, didn’t I?”

Blaine nodded. A happy burst of heat blooms in his chest at the thought of Kurt’s dad and the honest encouragement he had given their relationship. “Yeah. That he would have married your mom sooner if he’d had the chance.”

“We _are_ lucky we found each other when we did. It’s all happened so quickly because _life_ goes by so quickly. It could be over before we know it. That’s why I want to start spending it with you as soon as possible.” Kurt clutches Blaine’s hand tighter, turning it over, and their rings clink together. In Blaine’s mind, everything clicks: the enormity of their decision, the entirety of his love, the eternity they’re going to share.

Blaine surges forward and kisses him; he can’t not. His free hand snakes around Kurt’s torso, pulling him as close as they can be still sitting in two separate chairs. “I love you,” Blaine breathes when he finally pulls away.

“I love you, too.” Then Kurt’s pink, perfectly kissed lips tighten into a pout. He glances at his computer screen at the corner of his vision. “But I’m sensing you don’t love this invitation.”

Blaine frowns a little. “It’s not my favorite,” he admits, not wanting to upset him.

Kurt pauses for a moment before reaching out and quietly clicking shut the lid of the laptop. “That’s okay. Why don’t we save it for tomorrow?”

When he turns back to Blaine, there’s a look of intent glowing in his eyes. Immediately, any thought of stationery flies out of Blaine’s mind.

“Yeah. Tomorrow.” It’s all Blaine is able to utter before Kurt’s lips are locked on his again.


	18. River

On the first of February, the mercury rises to seventy degrees, a rarity for winter in the Northeast. Rarer still is the fact that Blaine and Kurt have a free morning to enjoy it before their work shifts start at two.

“Let’s go to the Brooklyn Bridge,” Kurt says. Blaine couldn’t think of a better place to spend their morning.

They bring books, a blanket, and -- of course -- bagels. The park is crowded with people, but they manage to find a patch of brown grass that’s the perfect size for the two of them.

The East River seems as vast as an ocean to Blaine’s Midwestern eyes. It flows, murky and menacing, under the bridge and out to the Hudson, and to points beyond that Blaine will never know. The river’s choppy surface sparkles under the pale winter sun, like piercing white flecks on the blue-black water. It all lays at the feet of Manhattan; from his perspective lying on his belly, Blaine thinks the city looks like some sort of aquatic paradise rising from the depths of the sea, polished and perfect and piercing the azure sky.

“Daydreaming?” he hears Kurt say. Blaine turns to see Kurt staring at him, a contented smile on his face.

“A little. And you?” Blaine realizes that Kurt has been watching him the entire time he was gazing out at the river.

“A little,” Kurt mimics, giving him a sassy smirk. “I like watching you. I wonder what you’re thinking on the rare occasions you don’t come right out and tell me before I ask.”

It makes him laugh, makes his insides do a slow summersault of joy because Kurt knows him so well. “Am I that predictable?”

“It’s just who you are,” Kurt says with an amused sigh. “Next, you’re going to tell me that we should be studying instead of staring off into space.”

“We should be,” Blaine agrees.

“And then you’ll take my hand--” Kurt pauses to interlace the fingers of his left hand with Blaine’s right, pressing the heels of their palms into the blanket. “-- and smile at me.”

Blaine stares at their hands: pale and tan, entwined. He looks up at Kurt with a grin. “Except you just beat me to it.”

Kurt returns his big, wide smile with one of his own. “And now we’ll both read for ten minutes before you distract me when you start humming a song.”

“That was only _once_. Twice… okay, a _few_ times.”

Kurt shrugs, still smiling. “Like I said. It’s who you are. It’s what I signed up for. Now, _read_!”

Silently, Blaine assents. Still holding Kurt’s hand, Blaine flips open his textbook and turns to chapter five to read.

When he begins to hum six minutes later, Kurt simply shoots him a look, and then rolls his eyes. There’s a smile on his face the whole time.

“Thanks for knowing me,” Blaine says, nudging him lightly in the ribs.


	19. Stitch

Blaine presses the red End button on his phone to disconnect the call. But his mother’s voice still rings in his ear.

_“Marriage is forever, honey. I know you think you understand that, but you don’t.”_

_“I just don’t think you’re making a smart decision, Blaine.”_

_“Well, we’ll be there, of course. But for the record, I don’t approve of this.”_

His heart feels torn apart -- ripped in half by her words, her disappointment in his decision to get married.

Why can’t his parents understand? Why don’t they simply see Kurt and realize, _Oh! He’s the one for our son_ , the way it was so clear for Blaine?

Sure, he’s young. But he doesn’t need to waste any more years thinking about it when he knows time won’t change his mind. Kurt is his soulmate, and they’re going to be together forever.

Blaine collapses back onto the bed, drained, and closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to think about his parents’ disapproval anymore, or anything else unhappy. He focuses his mind’s eye on Kurt, on the life they’ve built together and everything they’ll soon share.

He slips asleep to a dream of the two of them dancing on a rooftop under the lights of New York City.

***

“Blaine…”

He wakes to the sound of his name, and the feel of Kurt’s gentle hand smoothing down his arm. “Blaine,” Kurt whispers again.

Slowly, he opens his eyelids -- when did he fall asleep? -- to see Kurt sitting beside him on the bed.

“What time is it?” Blaine asks. His voice is ragged with fatigue, and his mouth feels fuzzy and uncomfortably warm.

“About eleven-thirty. I was talking to Rachel while you were on the phone with your mom. Before I knew it, it was late, so I came in and found you asleep.”

Blaine hums, dredging up the memory of his conversation with his mother. “They got the invite today,” he tells Kurt. The same sharp stab of pain sticks in his chest, dulled only slightly by sleep.

“Oh?” Kurt’s palm caresses up and down his arm again. “Is everything okay?”

“She told me that, for the record, they don’t approve of my getting married so young.”

Kurt’s hand stops. When it moves again a moment later, his fingers are curled into claws. “Well, we knew that already, right?” he says as his blunt fingertips scratch down the fabric of Blaine’s sleeve.

Blaine doesn’t answer. Maybe he’d known -- but he’d also hoped things would change. That his parents would be happy for him. That everybody could be as joyous as he felt whenever he remembered he was going to spend the rest of his life with Kurt Hummel.

When Blaine is silent for too long, Kurt crawls over his body to the opposite side of the bed and wraps an arm around him, holding him close. “Are they going to come?” he asks tentatively.

“She said they would.”

“Good.” He can sense that Kurt wants to say more -- to rail against his parents, maybe, or to ease his sadness with words. But all he says is, “It’s going to be _amazing_ , Blaine.”

Blaine snuggles closer to Kurt’s body. His eyelids are starting to feel heavy again, so he closes them. He intends to say something romantic, but instead he murmurs, “I need to brush my teeth.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Kurt pulls him in deeper. “Let me hold you.”

Kurt’s touch is a bandage that holds the two halves of Blaine’s heart together; his quiet support is a perfect balm that helps to heal his soul.

With the soft, rhythmic puffs of Kurt’s breath on his neck, Blaine begins to drift to sleep again.


	20. Torch

Blaine pushes the blankets from over his head and gulps a huge breath.

“ _God_ , Kurt,” he pants to the empty air, cool on his skin compared to the sweltering cave under the covers. He blinks at their bedroom ceiling, bathed in a rosy pink glow from the winter twilight outside their window.

Blaine hears a muffled chuckle, and then he feels Kurt’s hot mouth envelop the tip of his cock. He moans again, his body set ablaze by Kurt’s talented tongue.

He inhales once more -- stuttering, shaking, squirming against the bed -- before he ducks under the blankets again.


	21. Us

Blaine and Kurt trek to the City Clerk’s office on the Thursday of spring break, in the middle of a cool, sunny afternoon that hints at the fragrant beauty of spring soon to come. It’s precisely fifty-eight days until their wedding -- they’ve both been counting down with an iPhone app that displays the digits on their home screens.

Together they wait in a line that snakes down the hall, its yellow-painted walls harshly lit under fluorescent lights. Blaine hums a tune from voice lab; Kurt taps his foot impatiently. They hold hands the whole time. It’s the most mundane, enormous task of Blaine’s life.

When they finally reach the counter fifteen minutes later, it’s Blaine who speaks, his voice colored with barely controlled enthusiasm. “Hi! We’d like to get a marriage license.”

The young woman behind the glass blindly reaches to her right for a piece of paper, and then slides it through the tiny window in front of her. “Fill this out and bring it back here with your identification and a thirty-five dollar payment,” she says in an emotionless, thick Spanish accent.

“Thanks!” Blaine says brightly, even though her gaze is already trained on the person behind them in line.

Kurt grabs the application. “Come on, hubby,” he says as he ushers them across the hallway to a seating area.

Blaine grins. “Always call me that, please.”

They both stop short when they notice the bench along the wall is full. A mother sits there with two of her children; a third runs up and down the hallway, yelling, his footsteps booming against the walls like claps of thunder.

“Um. Just. Let me use your back,” Kurt says. Blaine feels him hold the piece of paper to his back.

“Wait!” Blaine reaches into his shoulder bag and fishes out his composition book. “Use this,” he says, handing the hardcover notebook to Kurt.

“Thanks.” He feels Kurt press the notebook against his spine. “Uh, would you rather be _Spouse A_ or _Spouse B?_ ”

Something about the question is surreal to Blaine. He snorts an undignified laugh, giving some of his excitement an outlet to escape his body.

“Stop laughing!” he hears Kurt scold from behind him, even though there’s a chuckle in his voice, too. “I can’t write on you if you’re shaking.”

“Sorry,” Blaine apologizes. He clears his throat, trying to shake away his giggles.

“I’m making you _Spouse B_ ,” Kurt declares.

“B for Blaine?”

“B for being ridiculous.”

Blaine shrugs, the movement earning another half-hearted groan of frustration from Kurt. “I’ve been called worse.”

Kurt is quiet for a moment as he begins to fill out his half of the form. Then Blaine hears him whisper, “ _Alfalfa_.”

Now it’s Kurt that’s giggling. Blaine laughs too, remembering his disaster of a first dance class with Cassandra July. “You should stick with ‘hubby,’ _Spouse A_ ,” he teases.

He lets Kurt complete the form in silence. Finally, he hears Kurt click his pen closed. “Okay, I think I’ve given them every bit of information they could possibly need.” He hands Blaine the notebook, the form, and the pen, and then he turns so his back his facing Blaine.

Blaine scans Kurt’s answers, smiling at his loopy handwriting spelling out his vital statistics. Blaine begins to write in his own: his name, his parents’ names, his address, his social, his place of birth. _Non-Hispanic of Multiple Races_ , he checks next to _Ethnicity_.

“ _Surname after marriage_ ,” he reads aloud slowly. He glances up at the back of Kurt’s head. “Are we sure?”

Kurt nods. Blaine looks back down at the form and writes the same text Kurt scrawled in the corresponding box to the left: _Hummel-Anderson_. “No going back now,” he breathes, his heart light and happy.


	22. Vodka

_From Sam Evans_   
_To Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel, Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez:_

BACHLOR PARTYYY  
Tonite!!!!!

_From Blaine Anderson_   
_To Sam Evans, Kurt Hummel, Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez:_

???

_From Sam Evans_   
_To Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel, Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez:_

  
There lettin me take a whoel case home from my photo shoot!

_From Kurt Hummel_   
_To Sam Evans, Blaine Anderson, Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez:_

Sam, do they even know you’re not 21?

_From Santana Lopez_   
_To Sam Evans, Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel, Rachel Berry:_

I hafta work 2nite

_From Rachel Berry_   
_To Sam Evans, Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel, Santana Lopez:_

Me too!!

_From Sam Evans_   
_To Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel, Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez:_

No, screw work  
Call in sick  
Blain n Kurt are gettng married and its time to celebraet

_From Blaine Anderson_   
_To Sam Evans, Kurt Hummel, Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez:_

Wait… you *do* know how to spell my name, right?

***

When Blaine gets home from class at six, the loft is already rowdy. A bumping beat by Beyoncé blares from the speakers in the entertainment center. There’s a rainbow of balloons taped to the walls, the furniture; some of them roll around on the floor, just waiting to be stepped on.

“Hey! Blaine’s back!” Sam yells from the kitchen. He’s surrounded by cobalt blue bottles and red Solo cups scattered across the dining table.

“Hey…” Blaine drops his bag by the door and begins to unbutton his coat. He barely has time to shrug it off his shoulders before Kurt runs up to him.

“Blaine!” Kurt’s eyes are too-bright and sparkling like big, icy diamonds. “It’s our bachelor party!” He shoves an oversized cup in Blaine’s face. “Try this! Cherry Coke!”

Tentatively, Blaine raises the cup to his lips. The drink tastes like Coke, and alcohol, and sickly sweet cherries.

It’s delicious.

He takes another sip, bigger this time.

“Hey! Get your own!” Kurt exclaims, slapping him lightly on the arm.

Blaine bats his eyelashes up at Kurt. “Make me one?” he asks.

Kurt takes his cup back, shooting Blaine a saucy smile as he turns to walk to the kitchen. Right behind him is Santana, who slinks up to Blaine wearing a skin-tight green skirt. “Congrats, pretty pony,” she says as she gives him a crushing hug with her one free arm. When she pulls away, she turns toward Sam in the kitchen. “Now, where the hell is Berry?”

“She’s on her way,” Sam answers. “She texted me before she got on the subway.”

“Oh, of course she told _you_.” Santana shoots him a look, which Sam pointedly ignores. “ _Anyway_ ,” she sings, looking back at Blaine and holding up a small white tray. “Even though I called out for work, I’m still on waitress duty tonight. Care for a jello shot?”

“Um, sure?” Blaine reaches for a jiggly red shot, but stops short when he realizes… “Are those…?”

They were shaped, unmistakably, like penises.

“They’re a little… _flaccid_ , but I know you can’t resist a delicious dick!” She says it with a huge, devilish grin.

“ _Santana_ ,” Blaine hisses. “How did you even…”

“I bought a mold. I’ve been hiding it under my bed for a while. I figured sooner or later the right opportunity to break it out would rear its _head_.” She winks at him. “Pun intended.”

Before Blaine can attempt to reply, Kurt returns with a second cup in his hands.

“Ooh, more jello penises!” Kurt hands the cup to Blaine, and then plucks a penis from the tray. He makes a deliciously sexy slurping sound as he sucks the shot into his mouth. As Blaine watches the red jello disappear between Kurt’s lips, he feels his own cock jump to attention.

“Yeah. Give me one of those, too.” Blaine grabs a penis with his fingers and pops it into his mouth. It’s sweet and tart and bitter with vodka, and it goes down quick and smooth. He chases it with a sip from his cup -- and coughs as the sharp tang of alcohol bites at his throat.

“I had him make yours a little on the strong side,” Kurt told him. “You have some catching up to do.”

***

An hour later, Blaine is all caught up.

“Aren’t you supposed to have your bachelor party _without_ the person you’re marrying?” Dani asks lazily. She’s sitting on the floor, her back propped up against the couch. Santana’s head is slumped halfway across her chest. “Last hurrah before you shack up for good?”

Blaine is confused by the question. “Why would I wanna party without Kurt?” he wonders aloud. Why would he ever want to do _anything_ without Kurt, he thinks as he reaches down to nuzzle his nose against Kurt’s cheek. They’re lying on the couch together: Blaine in the corner and Kurt nestled between his legs, stretched across the couch’s length.

“Blaine can’t drink out. He’s not twenty-one yet,” Santana pipes up.

“He has’a fake ID,” Kurt says. His words are slightly slurred, which somehow works to turn Blaine on even more.

“Okay then. We’re too broke to drink out.”

“Amen!” Rachel yells, holding up her drink for emphasis. She’s draped over Sam’s lap, her legs dangling over the arm of the chair. It’s far and away the most openly affectionate she’s ever been with Sam in front of them. No one -- not even Santana -- says anything.

“I don’t wanna do any… _anything_ without you,” Blaine murmurs in Kurt’s ear. He’s utterly intoxicated -- with love, with vodka, with the feeling of Kurt’s denim-clad ass pressed tightly against his groin.

When Kurt looks up at him, Blaine can see the same drunken desire swimming in his unfocused eyes. “Less’go,” is all he says, in a low, lazy voice.

Blaine feels cold when Kurt suddenly gets to his feet, swaying just a little. But then Kurt reaches down and grabs his hand. His grip is warm, needy, insistent; in one smooth move, he yanks Blaine off the couch so he’s standing flush with Kurt’s side. “Thanks for the party,” Kurt says, picking up what’s left of his last cherry vodka-infused Coke. “But now iss’time for us to hav’rr own celebration.”

To a round of catcalls, they take off, stumbling over red and yellow and purple balloons in their haste. “Get it, ladies!” Santana calls after them. They don’t look back.

Blaine hears the music edge louder as they escape to the privacy of their bedroom, sliding the curtain snugly closed behind them and collapsing together into bed.


	23. Whisper

The school year is finally through. They’ve scrimped and saved, they’ve sacrificed, they’ve slogged through the busiest four months of their lives. It’s all just a memory now -- a whisper in the back of their minds they choose to tune out.

Because tomorrow, Kurt and Blaine are getting married.

***

It’s a silly tradition not to see each other on their wedding day, they insist when everyone gives them a hard time for staying together the night before. But really, it’s because they want to celebrate.

They want the calm, joyous relief that comes with the end of _practices_ and _rehearsals_ and _final exams_. They want to explore, enjoy, rediscover one another after months of not-quite-enough time. They want to hold each other through the crashing waves of emotion that come with the realization, over and over again, that they’ll be married this time tomorrow.

“I love you,” Blaine gasps when Kurt enters him, filling him whole. “I want you so bad.”

Kurt speaks softly, his breath tickling Blaine’s ear. “I’m yours.”

***

In the morning, when Blaine wakes, Kurt is gone. The only thing left is the scent of him, and a note in his handwriting tied to a red rose lying on his empty, rumpled pillowcase.

_You didn’t really think I’d break tradition, did you? I’ll see you tonight!_

_< 3 KH(-A)_


	24. Yes

_Yes._ Blaine tells it to Kurt as they exchange their vows in front of their family, their friends, and the city they’ve come to call home.

 _Yes._ He believes it when they turn to walk back down the aisle and he notices, amidst the cheering and applause, his mother wiping away a happy tear.

 _Yes._ He sees it when he lifts his gaze to the sky during their first dance; above the lights, the dirt, the chaos glows a single star. Blaine doesn’t need to make a wish, because he couldn’t hope for a better life.

 _Yes._ He shows Kurt with his body when they tangle together in bed, consummating the eternal promise they’ve made to each other.

 _Yes._ He knows it as he holds his sleeping, naked husband in his arms, his eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling, dreaming what joys tomorrow might bring.


End file.
